no actors allowed

by Tim Bagley  

My way into show business was through  commercials.  I've always gone out on any audition my commercial agent sent me on, and was grateful for the opportunity.  One time I was told to wear boxer shorts to an audition for some Nabisco cracker.  In the audition room, it was just me and the casting director.  He tells me, "Go ahead and take your clothes off."  I remember pulling my pants down and taking off my shirt and feeling a little bit like Cocoa from 'Fame.'  He gave me instructions. "You'll start out laying on the couch reading the newspaper in your boxer shorts.  Then you're distracted by a cracker hitting the imaginary window.  When I say, 'cracker,'  you'll get up off the couch, confused, and go look out the window."  Following his direction, I'm on the couch, reading the paper.  He says, "cracker!" I get up off the couch, confused, and start walking to the imaginary window looking for the cracker, and I hear, "Cut."  And in the most disgusted tone he says, "We have to shoot it again, I saw your balls."  I said "Excuse me?"  And he explains, "When you got up off the couch your balls came out."  Completely humiliated, I did it again, and once again he stops me.  This time he makes an actual sound of disgust, like, "Ugh...I saw your balls again."  With an accusatory tone in his voice he asked, "Why didn't you under dress with tighty whiteys?"  As if I'd planned this on purpose.  Like I wanted to force him to see my balls.   I'd never even heard the term "tighty whiteys" before, but was silently damning myself for not knowing any better. Later I learned that he was talking about regular white fitted underwear. I resented the way he was attacking me, as if I couldn't wait to show off my ball sack.  Like that was my master plan.  The third time I heard, "cracker," I got off the couch with my knees and thighs pressed firmly together, and I couldn't have looked more gay if I tried.  Needless to say, I did not get that job.    

Once my commercial agent called and asked "Tim, can you roller skate?" When I was in the 4th grade we used to roller skate all over Varsity Hill in Madison Wisconsin, so I said, "Yes."  How hard could it be?  It wasn't until I got to the actual roller rink, and was fitted for skates, that I started thinking, "What are you doing Tim?"  When they called me out to the rink, the girl said, "Okay show me what you can do."  I thought, "Does she mean, like...tricks?"  All I could do was roll.  I couldn't skate backwards.  I couldn't turn sideways.  I really couldn't even stop properly.  So with a very proud, determined look on my face, I rolled.   While I was rolling she said again, "Come on, show me what you got."  So, I got a good fast roll going and then I dramatically squatted down with my arms stretched out in front on me, like it was a brilliant trick.  While I was squatted down there gliding, I looked over at her, and without any words exchanged I left the rink immediately.  I called my agents and asked them to take roller skating off my list of special skills.    

Once my commercial agent called and asked, "Tim, can you jump on a trampoline?" I always loved jumping on a trampoline in gym class.  When I was growing up, the Brawley family had a trampoline in Niles Michigan, and I could jump higher than all my friends, so I said, "Yes."  How hard could it be?  I get there, and professional trampolinists, with special padding, were all stretching to limber up.  Did you know that real  trampolinists have actual trampoline jumping apparel?  Well, neither did I.  I was the only one wearing jeans and a T-shirt.  I remember climbing on the trampoline in front of everyone thinking, "What are you doing Tim?" I didn't jump too high, because it's quite different as an adult, and I was terrified.  When they asked if I could do any tricks, I jumped a little bit higher, and then dramatically dropped to my knees, with my arms stretched out in front of me, and then quickly jumped back up.  I heard snickering from the other trampolinists as I scampered off the trampoline, like a frightened deer into the woods.  I asked my agent to take "trampoline" off my special skills list.    

A few years later I was at a commercial audition for a cell phone company, to play Paul Revere, and the casting director asked me, "Tim, can you ride a horse?"   When I was a kid I took riding lessons at summer camp, and I've always loved horses, so I said, "Yes."  How hard could it be?  At the audition we only had to read the dialogue.  I got a callback, and again they asked if I could ride a horse.  I said, "Yes."  Then there was another callback, and the casting director asked me again,  in front of the cell phone clients, if I could ride a horse, and again I said, "Yes."   That night I get a call from the casting director.  They want to see me ride a horse at the Equestrian Center in Burbank at 8:00am the next morning.  I hung up the phone in a panic and immediately called my parents for encouragement.  My Mother said, "Tim!  You can't ride a horse?!"  I wondered, "Why do we still go to the well when we know the well is dry?"  There was no time for a horseback riding lesson, so I did what any actor would do.  I asked myself, "What can I wear that will make me look like I know how to ride a horse?"  The next morning at 8:00am, dressed in a red and white gingham cowboy shirt,  I met the crew and the other actor auditioning, who was also there to show that he could ride a horse.  We all waited for a third actor to show up, but he never did.  I wondered, "Did he oversleep?  Or was he laying in bed saying, 'Who am I kidding, I can't ride a horse!'"  I took a deep breath and got on the horse like I was a pro.  I was doing a combination of the Groundling's improvisation games, "Yes And," and "Expert Talker."   As they all watched and waited, the horse wouldn't budge.  I thought, "This horse is not going to ruin my audition."  Finally, just like I've seen in the movies, I dug my heels into the side of the horse and yelled, "Yah!,"  and he took off running!  He galloped around the ring once and then stopped, on his own, right in front of the crew.  I dismounted, acting like I was in complete control, shook their hands, and left. I went to my car and my hand was shaking so much, I couldn't get the key into the keyhole.  When I got home there was a message on the answering machine.  "Congratulations Tim, you got the job."  My terror was only beginning.   

We shot the commercial out at the Disney Ranch.  When I got there they introduced me to a stunt double named Jimmy, and said that anything that I wasn't comfortable doing Jimmy would do.  I made sure Jimmy had lots of screen time.  There was one shot that we did galloping across a covered bridge over a swampy duck pond.  The director told the crew to be careful around the water.  He said it was filthy and full of snakes. I let Jimmy do all the riding on that covered bridge.  After that job was over, I had my agent delete my entire list of special skills from my resume.  To this day, I  don't have any special skills whatsoever.  

Click here to see me as Paul Revere. 

 

 

A year and a half later I got another cell phone commercial.  This time for Bell South Mobility, and we shot it in that same duck pond out at the Disney Ranch.  Literally I was in the duck pond. It was January.  The water was freezing.  And I had a cold.  Here's the commercial scenario:  There was  a couple having a summer picnic in a boat on this pond, and they missed their son, whose name just happened to be 'Jimmy.'  They said, "I wish we could call home to check on Jimmy."  And I'd pop up out of the water, wearing a business suit and tie, and I'd say, "Ahoy! We can call Jimmy from here.  With Bell South Mobility bla, bla, bla..."   So I was in that dirty cold duck pond the whole day, from sunrise to sunset.   I can't tell you how many times I thought to myself, "I really do wish we could call my stunt Jimmy from the other commercial to get in the water for me."   

Even though they put plastic flowers around the pond to make it look like summer, you can still see our breath in the chilly air.  The only good news was that the water was so cold that all the snakes were hibernating.
   
At the wardrobe fitting I asked for a wet suit to wear under the business suit, and they looked at me like I was Gary Busey being crazy difficult, and they said, "We'll see."   There was no wet suit.  The water smelled like sewage.   It was so filthy that my costume got very dirty, and they made me get out of the pond after every few takes so they could spray me down with a garden hose, like a barn animal. 
   
Even though I kept my eyes shut before I'd pop out of the water, they'd still have to put Visine in my eyes periodically to keep the red out.  At the end of the day, I went home and scrubbed and scrubbed with antibacterial soap, but I couldn't get that smell off my body for days, and sometimes, my eyes still itch. I blame that duck pond.  

Click here to see me in the duck pond

I've noticed a shift in my attitude toward the commercial business over the years.  But those residual checks are like gifts from God.  

Not long ago I did a commercial for Progressive Auto Insurance.  We rehearsed the first shot where I show up to a girls door, with flowers, for a date, and I hear, "Cut!" Suddenly the producer comes running from the monitor room toward me.  In a very curt tone he says, "Come over here! Stand there!  Turn around slowly!"  He was so rude I thought he was kidding and I playfully said, "I will not!"  He said it again, "Stand here and turn around," with an edge in his voice  that let me know he was not kidding.  

Now all the Progressive Auto Insurance people, "the clients" are circling me slowly with odd, confused expressions on their faces, as they look me up and down.  Then a short chubby girl says out loud, "He's just too old."  Mind you, these are all the same people that called me back three times to audition, and hand picked me from dozens of other actors to be in their commercial.  I found myself trying to look younger in front of them.  Widening my eyes like an innocent.  Then someone said,  "I think he's not hip enough."  Now I'm trying to look 'younger' but with a 'hip' edge.  Someone else says, "I don't mind that he's not hip, but he should be younger."  Several of them agreed, "Yeah, he's just too old." Finally I said, "I'm right here. I can hear you."  

They all stared at me blankly.  Silence.  They hated me.  (And P.S., if you wanted someone to look younger, and hipper, would you dress them in a sport coat and a turtleneck? No, neither would I.  But that's how they dressed me.)  They moved their discussion into the monitor room, and I thought for sure that I'd be fired.  

The director finally comes out of the monitor room with a smile on his face and says, "Let's continue.  Just ignore that."  Just ignore that?!  What?  How do you ignore that?   I'll tell you how.  You detach.  Much like a whore.  You go to that same little quiet place that a common street whore goes when they have to have sex a big fat stinky freak.  I worked all day knowing that the client hated me, but it didn't bother me because I kept thinking about the money.      

Click here to see me on that first date

There is a commercial studio out in the valley on Ventura Blvd. with signs all over their parking lot that say, "No actors allowed to park in the lot!"  "Actors will be towed!"  "Actors park in the street!"   And of course the lot is always empty.  You have to park miles away, so by the time I get to that studio I'm always in a sweaty rage.  One day I was  there at an audition for a Polaroid commercial.  The commercial has three Dad's at their kids school on career day.  One dad says something like, "I'm Stephanie's dad, and I'm a pilot."  Another says, "I'm Daisy's dad, and I'm a race car driver."  And the third dad says, "I'm Billy's dad, and I'm unemployed, but I have a Polaroid instamatic camera..."  And everyone loves him, and he takes photos of all the kids.  He's the "Fun Dad," and he's a big hit with the kids.  So the assistant comes out of the audition room and calls the next three names, and he says, "Okay, you be the this, and you be that, and points to me and says, you be the race car driver dad."  And I said, "No.  I'd like to read for the Fun Dad."  The guy says, "No, that's not how it works.  I tell you which part you're reading, and you read that part."  I said, "No. I drove all the way out to the valley, and parked a mile away because of all the "No Actor" signs in your parking lot, and I'm telling you that I'm going to read for the Fun Dad."  He disappears into the audition room, and comes back with the casting director.  She says, "What's the problem?"  I say, "No problem.  I want to read for the Fun Dad.  I don't want to be the race car driver. I don't want to be the pilot.  I want to be the Fun Dad."  She looks at me for a long beat, and then says, "Fine."  We go in.  We read.  I'm the Fun Dad.  Afterwards they release me, and ask the other two actors to stay to do it again.  I knew I wasn't going to be the Fun Dad in the real commercial, but I had fun being a dick.

I love my commercial agent, and I've got wonderful relationships with various people in the commercial business.   But just know that every time you see me on TV in a commercial, a little piece of me has died.  

Click here if you want to see a little piece of me dying in a beard.